


Lucky Star (hiding in the dark)

by WritesEveryBlueMoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Love Simon Fusion, Alternate Universe - Office, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Romance with a side of Fuck Capitalism, Goromcom, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rated T for swearing, Romantic Comedy, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritesEveryBlueMoon/pseuds/WritesEveryBlueMoon
Summary: Crowley's content taking life one day at a time, until a slip up results in his sleazy co-worker learning his biggest secret. While things begin to snowball, Crowley strives to keep his private emails a secret, for the sake of the person he loves, but has never met.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47
Collections: Good Omens Rom Com Event





	Lucky Star (hiding in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

> So! Good Omens Rom-Com Event! While this fic in itself has had ups and downs, the event itself has been a ton of fun, and I'd like to give a massive shout out to Amanda (@bisasterdi) who is an absolute legend for setting all of this up, I have so much respect for her. 
> 
> That said, I chose to adapt the movie 'Love, Simon', a favourite romcom of mine. I took a _lot_ of creative liberty with it (which has probably been inspired by The Office as I watch it for the first time), but I'm mostly happy with how it ended up, and I hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Edit: Because I am a sucker for cool ao3 skins, and discovered La_Temperanza's amazing email one, I have edited the fic to include these. If they are uncomfortable to read, just select "Hide Creator's Style" and the text will revert to what it was before

It was on the latest Halloween of many, while riding the Tube into work at 4am, that Crowley was struck by the thought that his life was strange. This was not a deep, philosophical realisation, nothing particularly profound.

In fact, on the surface, his life was extraordinarily ordinary. He had the office job he was paid far too little for, the tiny apartment he could barely afford, and of course the commute that bored him to death; all the standard aspects of being a Londoner. He had never expected anything less; he may have always been an optimist, but that didn't make him unrealistic.

However, it also happened that his expectations had been rather subverted, in small, unconventional ways.

He may have been working for a company that was demotivated at best and seriously corrupt at worst, but that didn't mean he couldn't make the best of a bad situation. All he needed to do was call on his immaturity, and resurrect the pranks of his school days. Whether it was gluing coins to the floor of random hallways, sticking up crude alternates to Gabriel’s famous positivity posters, or bringing down the cell service in the entire building, Crowley was up to Something, and it helped him get through the dull days. Eventually, out of a flair for theatrics or just plain curiosity, Crowley began signing his pranks with the pseudonym “Serpent of Eden”. It was fitting as, being the creator of sin and chaos, Crowley owed a lot to the dude.

Of course, Crowley’s pranks very rarely went as planned. For example, that prank with the cell service had backfired on him spectacularly. Not because of concerns about work, never in a million years, but more because the network maintenance shut down all wifi, and he missed any chance to email Angel that day.

Angel, of course, was the less conventional part of Crowley’s life. He worked in the same building as Crowley, and was arguably his best friend, but they had never talked face to face.

It was all thanks to Crowley’s flamboyant pseudonym. One particularly crappy day, Crowley had decided he was fed up with this shitty company, and decided to leave an easily-traceable email address at the ‘scene of the crime’. The intention was to get fired, or maybe just quit in the most dramatic way possible. However, this email address was not found by a bigheaded executive, but rather Angel.

For some inexplicable reason, perhaps the same reason Crowley had left the email address there in the first place, Angel had not reported it, but rather created a matching email with his own ostentatious psuedonym - “Angel of the Eastern Gate” - and wrote to inform Crowley of his exceptionally stupid move. Being the wonderful person he was, Crowley sent back a snarky reply, and as time wore on, they became less half-hearted enemies and more friends. They talked about all kinds of things, none of which were work-appropriate, and one fateful, terrifying day, Crowley realised that Angel, a random guy he had never met, who liked book-collecting and vintage fashions, might not _just_ be his best friend.

It was illogical really, falling in love with someone he had never met, yet there Crowley was, head over heels, desperately anticipating every word Angel wrote during those long, dull hours at the H&H Security offices.

Oh, Crowley had tried to meet. But Angel was fearful, as not only was their entire friendship based around the covering of an act that could get them both strongly disciplined, but the nature of their emails would put him in a horrible position personally. For example, revealing that he, like Crowley, was gay.

So naturally Crowley understood his hesitancy; the company was famously conservative, and if Angel cared about his position in the slightest, the things he’d told Crowley could screw him over for good. It made perfect sense, Crowley just hated it, and wanted to have all the joys of meeting face to face with this person he cared so much about. If he’d had a few glasses of wine and felt particularly dismal, Crowley could admit that it was probably because Angel didn’t feel at all similarly to Crowley, and did not actually want any more of a relationship than what they already had.

Which was… fine. Angel didn’t owe Crowley anything, and had hardly asked for him to fall in love. To be honest, Crowley doubted he even realised, despite his affections shining through even clearer in prose than in voice.

Obviously, he would never try to find out Angel’s identity against his wishes. Perhaps he found himself keeping an eye out for people who had a visible fondness for classic novels, or who made out of date references, but really, if he was being honest, he was always glad when people acted like the same twats as usual.

It was almost torture, but it was too nice to be torture. Every time he refreshed his mail, a part of him soared upon seeing the notification that Angel had responded. When Crowley was having a particularly crap day, he would find himself fantasising that they were like period lovers; separated by their ‘unnatural’ love, only able to send letters in communication.

Thankfully, nothing even vaguely resembling these daydreams made its way to Angel’s inbox.

The unreliable underground train gave a jolt and Crowley reluctantly pulled himself back to reality. Honestly, it was far too early for anybody who was not insane to be functioning.

To be fair, waking up three hours early to ensure that the elaborate prank he was going to set up would be completely undetected was a _tiny_ bit insane.

However, it was Halloween, and not only would it be remiss of Crowley to not have some fun on his favourite holiday, it would also be a waste of these simply _fantastic_ decorations he had found.

The executive pigs deserved it anyways. Crowley’s co-workers in Sales were some of the most despicable human beings he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting, but at least they didn’t pretend to be anything else. Gabriel Arch, the CFO, acted like he was a freaking angel, even even though everyone knew he was filthy rich, and treated his employees like shit.

Granted, this did not excuse the disgusting behaviour of his co-workers, Hastur and Ligur - who somehow both had parents willing to curse them with the first name ‘Duke’ - had probably not seen a bath in the last twenty years, and made constant, crude, offensive jokes. For that matter, their boss, Beel ZeBub, could do with turning up once in awhile, and not expecting everyone else to have magically done their work.

The office itself was also pretty grim, as the Sales department was located in the basement, where leaks were constant and there was no chance of glimpsing the light of day. In contrast, the executives upstairs had a big, open plan office, with floor-to-ceiling windows that blinded the computer screens and left the place far too bright for Crowley’s liking.

As the carriage rattled on through the depths of London, Crowley tried not to think about which department Angel worked in, instead focusing on the vintage Bentley he habitually dreamed about buying.

* * *

When Crowley arrived at the H&H offices, it was almost dead silent, which was most convenient for him. After getting in with very little trouble, he made a determined start towards the basement, where he intended to leave his stuff before making his way upstairs to the Exec’s offices.

Unfortunately, for all his success at temptation, Crowley was very susceptible to it, especially when it involved a certain anonymous email friend.

He told himself it would only take a minute - boot up the ancient PC, check his email, then head upstairs. It was so simple, there was no reason to not. Was he a little obsessive? Probably.

Ever the master of his own destruction, it all came back to the prank where he brought cell service down for the entire building. He had expected a morning of inconvenience, and then business as usual.

It had been two years, and the tech team still hadn’t booted it back up again.

This, of course, meant that the only way Crowley could email Angel was through the Work WiFi Network, which was only accessible from Company PCs.

Angel had found the situation endlessly amusing, when Crowley emailed him in despair, smugly writing that ‘evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction’ and mentioning it to him for days afterwards. Honestly, he was such a pompous prat, Crowley simply couldn’t understand why he was so in love with him.

After waiting fifteen minutes for his ridiculously slow computer to boot up, and another five for it to process Crowley’s email login, he opened his inbox to find… No new mail.

Okay, that wasn’t a surprise. But still, it was always worth checking.

He grabbed the tacky decorations and briskly headed towards the Executive Department. There was plenty of time yet.

As he walked up the back stairs, he wondered if Angel had left anything for him on the Sharing Table.

The Sharing Table was a place people could leave secondhand items for collection by any other employees that may want them. It was much like a thrift store, except with even tackier crap nobody could possibly want. Most people ignored it, Crowley included, until the day Angel mentioned it in an email, subtly implying he should go and take a look. When he’d arrived, he had found a truly hideous mug with a twisted snake as a handle, and there was no doubt that Angel had left it for him. As much as the action was just a friendly joke, Crowley still found it embarrassingly endearing, knowing he was holding something that had made Angel think of him. He had been extremely excited about the gift, trying and failing to play it casually.

That had been the start of a whole new thing; leaving each other gifts disguised as junk. By the time they tested out this new idea, they knew each other well enough that it was easy to spot a gift from the other, and it always felt strangely nice. To have something real, that Crowley could hold, and know that somewhere out there, his Angel was a real person, who cared enough to leave this beautifully ugly misprint bible (with an honest-to-god snake and apple pattern inside) just for him.

He passed the table now, just in case. There was nothing from Angel today, just a tire-iron, some random old DVDs, and the hat that apparently belonged to ‘Thou-Shalt-Not-Commit-Adultery Pulsifer’ which had been at the table from the beginning.

* * *

The upstairs office was completely empty when Crowley entered, a rarity to say the least. Normally there was always _somebody_ there, even if they were perfectly happy to ignore Crowley’s existence.

Nethertheless, he made an effort to be as quiet as possible while creeping across to the Upper Break Room. After all, if Gabriel suddenly appeared, it would be haunting Crowley’s nightmares for weeks to come. The man had a reputation for spontaneously appearing to people randomly, sometimes surprising them with good news, which he delivered enthusiastically if not pleasantly, and a few, memorable times, bad news. These had ended in various degrees of disaster, from angry yelling to a threatened lawsuit, and the company made the wise choice to defer Gabriel from passing on messages.

Now they sent Michael Ange, the snobby, uptight Deputy CEO, who was a complete wanker, in Crowley’s opinion. She was cold, calculating, and condescending, always thinking in the best interests of the company, and never sparing a thought for those who worked there. Nobody ever filed any complaints against her, but that had nothing to do with any empathetic delivery.

Crowley jumped suddenly, seeing a glint from across the room, but it was thankfully just a flashing PC (which was new and modern, would probably boot up in two minutes flat - not that he was bitter, _no_ , these executives _clearly deserved_ it). Okay, perhaps he was being a little paranoid, but he had good reason, anyone could admit.

In complete darkness, the Upper Breakroom was mysterious, and creepy. If Crowley’s eyesight wasn’t appalling, he’d be tempted to leave it like that as he put the decorations up. As it was, he simply contented himself with imagining how each of the Execs might react upon seeing the shapes in the dark.

The Halloween decorations he was putting up were truly horrible, the most cheap, ugly, tacky crap he could find. He arranged plastic pumpkins on the countertops, stuck vampire figures in the cupboards, and hid tiny, fluffy, toy bats in every little alcove he could find. He set out streamers, and banners, even putting a complimentary witch hat on the coat rack (what dumbass put a coat rack in a breakroom anyway?). After all else was perfectly arranged, he sprayed the room with cobwebs, cheap, sticky stuff that would probably get stuck in somebody’s suit.

He stood back to admire his work, beaming with pride at just how awful it was.

Content that his decor would ruin every executive’s day, Crowley turned off the lights and slipped away from the upper floors before someone could come in and see him.

As he made his way downstairs, he spotted a figure making its way towards him.

“Oy, anyone there?” he called, hoping it was at least a decent person, preferably not from upstairs.

The figure came into view, and he saw it was Aziraphale Fell. Okay, that wasn't so bad.

They'd never spoken, but Crowley knew of him. He'd been demoted after a fault with one of his alarm systems resulted in the theft of an extortionately expensive sword.

"Hello," he said politely, and he did seem to have something of the absent-minded about him.

"Hey," Crowley said in an over-casual manner, "I'm just heading to the Sharing Table. Ya cool?"

"Oh, good good," Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley went to speak as Aziraphale began to continue, and they shared an awkward laugh, during which Crowley inadvertently found himself appreciating the stylish allure of his quirky companion.

"Well, don't let me keep you!" Aziraphale said, tugging his waistcoat - bit dramatic really, but Crowley could appreciate the sense of style - and they awkwardly moved around each other, bumping together a few times with hasty apologies.

As the blonde haired man walked out of sight, Crowley found himself slightly befuddled.

"Right…" he said unsurely, smiling slightly to himself, "That was a thing."

* * *

When he arrived at his office, he hadn’t expected anything, so he let himself smile a little more openly. He may be hopelessly in love with his online best friend whom he had never met, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.

The warm feeling in his chest was dramatically cut off when he looked at his ancient computer, which he now realised he had forgotten to lock, and saw Hastur leaning over it, reading through his emails.

“Crowley,” the shithead turned to him, a manic grin forming on his face, “what the hell is this?”

Oh shit.

“Okay Hastur,” he said frantically, desperately attempting to appear calm, “I can see how this looks. But I really, _really_ need you to not tell _anybody_!”

“And why the fuck would I do that?”

That was an excellent point. An Ancient Philosopher may have needed weeks, possibly months, to truly weigh up their argument. A Professor may spend their lifetime on a thesis contemplating this very question. A bored teenager may spend hours on the internet researching the pros and cons, until they are concerningly sleep-deprived. All would conceive powerful, tactical, and well thought out answers.

Unfortunately, Crowley only had fifteen seconds, so his response fell to gut-reaction.

“I’ll do _anything_!” he said quickly, making frantic gestures with his hands, “I swear! Just please get away from that thing!”

Crowley’s gut had questionable judgement.

A pleased grin erupted across Hastur’s face, slimy and disgusting. He looked like a creature straight out of a Horror film, preparing to devour its victim.

Needless to say, Crowley quickly realised his mistake.

“Oh?” Hastur folded his arms confrontationally, “Anything?”

Crowley groaned and reminded himself of the cheap wine bottles he had hidden for days like these. “Yes,” he forced out bitterly.

“Well then,” Hastur slowly walked away, “I’m going to remember that. You owe me, Crawly!”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Crowley hesitantly began to brush the dirt off his chair.

“Point taken, now leave me the fuck alone, Hastur,” Crowley hissed through clenched teeth.

Hastur coughed and glared at him, and Crowley again mentally ran over his wine cupboard as he began to appreciate just how shit being indebted to Hastur was going to be.

“I mean,” he corrected himself with great, great effort, “I would very much appreciate it if you left me to do my work, Duke.”

Hastur glared before throwing him a truly horrific grin, the sort that a cockroach would give, if it had teeth.

“Very well, Crawly,” he drawled, grinning the whole time, and Crowley withdrew his previous mental comparison. It had really been an insult to all cockroaches.

As the slimeball of a human being finally left, Crowley turned back to his computer monitor and began to run through the emails that Hastur had seen.

* * *

Half an hour later, and Crowley had come to three conclusions; one, though he hated that Hastur had seen these emails he loved and held so dear, he had not even seen anything close to the best of them, which he supposed was a small blessing. Two, he was still absolutely, painfully, intrinsically besotted with Angel, cute upstairs workers be damned. Three, he really _really_ needed to let Angel know what had happened.

The problem was, Angel was prone to anxiety. They’d already established that with the ‘no identity’ thing. If Crowley told him that a random dude in his office had found their secret out? He would freak. He may think that the best route would be cutting off communication. They may never talk again. And Crowley couldn’t live with himself if he dared ever let that happen.

And so, with great reluctance, Crowley began to compose an email, staring at the blinking cursor and trying to stop himself from falling into insanity.

It was just an email. An easy, stupid email. It was simple.

He began to type.

**From: serpentofeden668@cmail.com**

**Subject: our emails**

**To: angel-of-the-easterngate@cmail.com**

**Dear Angel,**

**heeeey, nothing to worry about AT ALL, but something may have happened. don’t worry, everything is fine. just maybe change your email handle. and be aware of anyone trying to figure out whether you’re my anonymous gay email buddy.**

**also I’m in love with you. and, the world is shaped like a mushroom.**

**pigs are flying, rainbows are singing, and fucking fairies have murdered hastur and all our shitty co-workers while incredibly sexy centaurs have led us to a dream paradise, with a big library for you, an extra hot jacuzzi for me, and an extra high resolution tv screen for us to watch midsomer murders or poirot together. within sight of the jacuzzi, and the comfy armchair in the library for you.**

**Or you could join me in the jacuzzi. though to be honest, I’d really rather not be watching poirot if that were to happen.**

**but yeah, think it over.**

**Love,**

**Crowley**

Unsurprisingly, this email was going to remain in Crowley’s drafts for the foreseeable eternity. He instead wrote out a minorly less crazy email that hit the point he was trying to address a little better:

**From: serpentofeden668@cmail.com**

**Subject: happy halloween**

**To: angel-of-the-easterngate@cmail.com**

**hey angel,**

**happy halloween! Idk if u will have caught wind of my prank this year, its kinda on the sly, but if any1 would figure it out, its u.**

**anyways, just figured id let u know that my coworkers have been asshats lately, so be on ur toes regarding our emails.**

**Cheers,**

**Serpent**

Crowley tried not to panic about eternal misery from the moment the email was sent. Really, he did. His colossal failure does not discount the fact he tried.

Of course, it did not help that every time Hastur so much as glanced at him, he gave him a wide, uncomfortable grin, which was probably more suspicious than just ignoring him, as they both preferred.

He seemed to be in deep discussion with Ligur, and all Crowley could do was hope that his secret would not be all through the company by lunchtime.

It also slightly concerned him that they hadn’t told him what his side of the bargain for Hastur would actually be. The two men appeared to have a clear task in mind, and it would honestly surprise him if they changed their minds.

The fact that Angel had yet to respond to his email was not helping. Logically, Crowley knew that he didn’t check his inbox (or slack off) nearly as much as Crowley did, so no response shouldn’t really have been too much of a concern.

However, Crowley was paranoid and fearful of what reaction Angel’s anxiousness would cause, even with the very little he had told him.

There was one very minute silver lining amongst all of this, and that was that their boss, Beel ZeBub, was off sick, so he didn’t need to worry about their snide comments on top of everything else.

It was not until 5pm, close to the end of the day, that Crowley’s inbox finally, finally pinged with a new message.

Forgetting the fact that he had been beginning to pack up to go home, Crowley clicked on it faster than lightspeed, adrenaline levels embarrassingly high.

**From: angel-of-the-easterngate@cmail.com**

**Subject: Re: happy halloween**

**To: serpentofeden668@cmail.com**

**Dear Serpent,**

**Well, I must admit, though I Obviously Disapprove, your pranks have been quite the source of amusement on an otherwise dismal day. I appreciate your concern about our privacy, and will endeavour to follow your advice.**

**Happy Halloween, may you have the best of celebrations, my Serpent.**

**Cordially,**

**Angel**

Crowley read through the email once, and let out the deep breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding. He then repeated this five more times, until his heartbeat vaguely resembled a normal person’s.

All was okay. Angel didn’t hate him. They still could email each other. In fact, all things considered, he seemed remarkably calm. Perhaps this bad day he'd dealt with had worn him down.

It was okay. The blackmail from his shady coworker and seemingly endless pining weren't that bad. It would be sorted quickly. Everything was going to be absolutely fine.

Crowley was wrong, of course, but his optimism was admirable.

**Author's Note:**

> If any of y'all wanna reach me I'm on Tumblr @gwenstacyismyicon!


End file.
